[Home | Quicksearch | Search Engine | Random Story | Upload Story]



Thank you to colleendetroit for the read-through.

Take 1 & Take 2

by trillingstar



Take 1.

This isn't the kind of bar that Chris usually frequents, but he has a craving for something... rich tonight. He laughs. He's sure that the dark-haired guy sitting in the chair next to him is the yuppie he's going to fuck tonight, but then a jerky movement over at the bar diverts his attention.

A blond man wearing a dark rumpled suit sits at the end of the bar, with plenty of space between himself and the other patrons. He speaks tersely with the bartender, who returns holding a bottle and a glass. The man runs one hand through his hair, and Chris bets it feels soft and smells good, just like a woman's. Blondie retrieves a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, and it's then Chris notices that the man's hands are shaking.

Tuning out the small talk, Chris leans forward in his chair, intrigued by the blond's slender fingers trembling as he picks at the cellophane on the pack of cigarettes.

"Are you even listening to me?" The loud, indignant question breaks through Chris's concentration. He focuses on the face in front of him, the man's brown eyes set widely in his smooth baby face.

"'Course I am, kid," he says, his gaze falling to the man's mouth. Looking up into his eyes, Chris flashes a big smile.

The guy is mollified. "Well... what did I just say?"

"How much you wanna suck my cock," Chris lets his eyes drift down to the man's plump lips.

An amused huff in response. "I'm going to the bathroom." He stands up and looks meaningfully at Chris.

"Yeah, 'm gonna get another beer," Chris says, pointing at the bar.

The guy steps closer and presses his leg against Chris's thigh. "Don't be too long..."

"Sure, whatever." Chris doesn't even bother with a brush-off. The kid'll clue in whenever he makes it back.

Swallowing the last swig of beer from his glass, Chris gets up from the table, ending up one stool away from Blondie, who emits tiny grunts of frustration as he tries to extract a cigarette and fails. Chris observes while the man finally gets one out, only to snap it between his fingers a second later.

"Fuck me," the man whispers.

Don't mind if I do, Chris thinks. He catches the bartender's attention and raises his glass. He waits until there's a fresh pint in front of him before swinging his gaze back. Blondie's eyes are closed, his hands splayed flat on the bar in front of him; it looks as though he's trying to control his breathing, as if he's suffering an anxiety attack.

Chris slides onto the barstool closest to Blondie and deftly lifts the pack of smokes. He opens it and shakes a cigarette out halfway, then holds it and waits until the man opens his eyes and looks right at Chris, surprise written across his face.

"And you are..." Chris lets the sentence trail away.

Blondie squints at him in confusion, then at the pack in his hand.

"Smoke?" Chris purrs, looking at Blondie with intent and humor.

"Th-thanks," the guy stutters, reaching out with his hand, but Chris pulls the pack away, then holds it up to Blondie's face. His lips twist in a smile when the guy's mouth opens and he wraps his lips around the filter. Moving his hand back, Chris lets the cigarette slide out of the box slowly, and then plucks one out for himself.

He stands up to fish his lighter out of his pocket, and the guy's eyes follow his hand and then skip back to Chris's ass, and then return to his empty glass. He looks so forlorn that Chris has to smile. Quickly, he lights the man's cigarette, then his own, and then uncaps the bottle of bourbon and pours for the guy, who murmurs appreciatively.

"Smoke, drink... anything else you need, there?" Chris's tone is teasing. "I accept requests." He grins.

This earns him a bright smile from Blondie. He talks around the cigarette in his mouth. "Thank you. I'm- My name's Toby. Beecher," he adds.

"Hiya Toby. I'm Chris, Chris Keller." Chris extends his hand, and Toby hesitates, but shakes, his hand still quivering. Chris holds on, past when Toby tries to withdraw his hand, and they play Chris's favorite game: retreat, compliance, submission. Acceptance.

"You okay?" Purposefully, Chris lowers his voice, forcing Toby to lean closer to hear him.

"Actually, yeah," Toby smiles again, and Chris likes that he's the recipient of that wide, friendly grin.

"I passed the bar today," Toby blurts out, and Chris lets go of his hand.

"Toby the lawyer," Chris muses, taking a drag off his smoke.

"Yeah, I guess so," Toby replies. A tremor runs through his hands.

"So why aren't you out celebrating with all your pals?" Chris asks.

Toby looks at him, then past his shoulder. "I'm kind of a loner," he says, tapping his cigarette in the ashtray.

"Yeah, me too," Chris offers, and they're about to have a celebratory toast when the guy from before comes up next to them.

"Chris! Who's your friend?" He stares meanly at Toby. "I was waiting for you." He looks at Chris.

"Don't make it a habit," Chris drawls. Best to make this short. "Look, I don't even remember your name, okay? So beat it." He gestures with his hand.

The yuppie pouts, but after a few seconds of silence, he takes the hint and leaves.

Toby says, "You're fickle, then." He stubs out his cigarette in a circular motion.

"Nah, Tobe. I just know what I like," Chris says.

Toby raises an eyebrow. His hand is steady enough for him to lift his glass, and he takes a large swallow of bourbon. Chris places his hand on Toby's thigh, smoothing up from knee to hip. Toby coughs, recovers, and then looks at Chris. "I see."

Chris lets the heat he feels in his belly show in his eyes. "'Nother drink?"

Toby studies Chris for a minute, and then says, "No... I think I'm done." A short pause, and then he's standing, putting his cigarettes in his pocket, pulling on his overcoat and leaving money on the bar.

Chris's hand tightens around his glass of beer. It's an incredulous thought: He's walking away from me? He rolls his shoulders back and thinks about going to a bar closer to home, one where he knows he'll score.

Toby finishes buttoning his coat. He puts his hand on Chris's forearm. "Walk me home?"

Turning, Chris's eyes scan Toby's face. He thinks he heard Toby right, but...

"That's my request, Chris. Walk me home." Toby smiles at him and the fire in Chris's belly rushes to his dick.

"You got it, Toby," he says, standing up and ushering Toby out of the bar, one hand on the small of his back.


***

end



Take 2.

It fucking sucks that I have to take the bus. Okay, I'm grounded, and not being able to drive myself around is quickly turning into an enormous pain in the ass. Not only do the buses seem to have their own schedule that doesn't coincide with any of the official schedules, but also the "waiting areas" leave a hell of a lot to be desired.

It has to be like forty below and I've been standing here for nearly twenty minutes in a plastic lean-to with seven other people. We're practically huddled together to fight off the chilly wind and I clutch at the strap of my backpack with numb fingers. Sometimes I really hate my parents.

I mean, god, it was the first time I've ever been pulled over! So I had a few at Tommy's party, but it's not like I wasn't totally fine to drive. The cop said I swerved over the yellow line, but only because I was trying to avoid mashing up a squirrel. Stupid cop must have had to make quota this month or something.

I'm grinding my teeth together when someone leans in way close, like, overly close for a stranger, and asks me if I have a light. It's on the tip of my tongue to say no, just so I don't have to root around in my backpack or take off my gloves, but then I figure I could use the good karma, so I say, "Yeah," and look at the guy.

If time's not already freezing, it definitely slows to a crawl. Close-cropped brown hair peeking out from the sides of a woolen cap and the most fucking beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen. The cold must have infected my brain, because I forget what the guy wants. I'm staring, I know I am, but I can't drag my eyes away from his eyes.

Finally, he prompts me. "Got a light?"

I fight the oncoming blush and hand him my backpack while I pull my glove off with my teeth. "Uh, yeah, pretty sure there's one right... here..." Triumphantly, my fingers close around my trusty Zippo and I pull it out and start to hand it to the guy. But he doesn't take it; he just looks at me expectantly.

God! It's not enough that I have a lighter, now I have to do all the work too? His lips twist as he smiles and his dimples almost knock me on my ass. Oh, fine... he is holding my bag up, keeping it out of the snow.

Pulling off my other glove, I tuck them into the pocket of my parka. Flipping the top back, I flick the wheel and get a spark. Cupping the side of the lighter, it still takes three tries before the flame catches, and then the guy's big, warm hands cover mine as he leans in close, cigarette dangling between his lips.

How in the hell are his hands so hot? The heat flares out along my wrists and travels down my arms. My stomach knots up and my dick hardens. He steadies my hands and lights up, and then leans back and winks at me. "Thanks," he says in this throaty, rich voice that makes me want to start a conversation just to hear more of it.

And I would, too, except the fucking bus pulls up right as I'm opening my mouth, and I look down to find my backpack sitting on the ground, getting wet. Great. Leaning down, I jerk it up and put my lighter away, carefully looking away from the guy. A spiral of smoke drifts by my face, and I wave my hand around until it dissipates. I'm almost on the bus when the guy puts his freaky hot hand on my shoulder, so I have to look at him.

"Sorry," he says, and then I'm putting my token in the machine and finding a seat, my soggy backpack at my feet. I wait for him to get on the bus, half-hoping he'll sit by me; when I look out the window, he's leaning against the one wall of the lean-to, hands tucked into his jacket, smoking his cigarette. I guess this isn't his bus.

His voice echoes in my head. "Sorry."

Yeah, me too.

He'd better be here tomorrow. If I have to take the bus, I'm going to make damn sure it's worth my while. And this guy... I think he's going to be worth it.

***


end

Prompt: smoking; "sexy and not dark".

Please send feedback to trillingstar.